


The Wolf and The Hound

by Khalid



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adult Arya, F/M, Marriage Proposal, Sandor Clegane Swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 04:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18439025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khalid/pseuds/Khalid
Summary: Sandor gets an offer he... can’t refuse





	The Wolf and The Hound

**Author's Note:**

> This was a lot shorter than I’d planned but it was just sort of floating in my head.
> 
> I don’t think Sandor swears nearly as much in canon but... 
> 
> I’ve always sort of loved Arya and Sandor but didn’t really consider it until I’d seen Maisie in other things and realized she’s one of those people who will always look like a child.
> 
> I see zero reason Sandor shouldn’t have his childhood home if his parents are dead and his brother is by all accounts some sort of zombie.
> 
> As always I appreciate any comments, I seriously doubt there will be follow up in this fandom, let alone this story but you never know.

Sandor glared at the offending crow as though it had personally ruined his day. He glanced down at the scrap of parchment in his hands for the twentieth time, daring it to change. 

“Lord Sandor Clegane, your presence is requested at castle Winterfell in response to a proposal of marriage”

No name or signature. It didn’t sit right with Sandor, but then, he thought grumpily, what in his life had ever been right?  
He stowed the offensive document in his wrist brace just in case it would be evidence… for or against him, he had no idea. But in this case, he’d worked too hard to get those Stark girls back safely among family to allow something this… glaringly wrong and strange… to go unnoticed. He swung up onto his saddle, and the crow finally flew off.  
“Yeah, fuck you too…” he grumbled at it and urged his mount on toward Winterfell.

*****

Arya watched the rider plodding slowly toward the keep. She had spotted him earlier in the day and sent a scout to greet the man. Lord Sandor Clegane had never responded to her summons, so she hadn’t known he would come at all, but then, she hadn’t known if he would respond to her at all since she’d left him for dead and traveled to Bravos for her training. Sansa of course thought she was insane, but in the grand scheme of things, Arya thought it was an elegant solution. She spun to the stairs and strode down to greet their new guest.

*****

“I offered once, Lady Sansa. But I’m not proud. I’ll be happy to take you away if this big castle isn’t to your liking.” Sandor stood in front of the young redhead, no trace of leering in his face. Yet Sansa could see the desire buried in his eyes.

“I have no desire to marry you, Lord Sandor” she began, as diplomatically and genteelly as she could. From beside her in the doorway Arya’s voice called out as she walked into the room “I wrote that letter.”

Sandor’s face date dropped in shock. “The fuck you going on about, girl?” He growled in surprise.  
“It’s simple, Sandor,” Arya dropped pretense of formality. They had been through hell together. She wasn’t going to bow and scrape and sure wasn’t going to beg. “I’m not interested in being a ‘little lady’, and you’ve never seemed to care about that. You’re not getting any younger and if you’re not married now, I’ll assume you don’t have ladies beating down your door either. It’s a good match. Besides,” she continued with a small grin, “I’ve taken you off my list so you have less to fear now.”

*****

They ate in silence across the large oak table. Sandor still couldn’t believe that he was entertaining the idea of marrying this little Stark Bitch. The girl he’d seen transform herself to a boy to travel, who’d left him for dead and gone to train in Bravos to be the Gods only knew what… but it had been almost a decade. He couldn’t argue that this girl would always be little - everyone was little in contrast to the Cleganes - but she moved with the grace of a woman, even if she was no lady. She didn’t arouse him, not like the big busted whores in King's landing, but she argued with wit and a sincerity that appealed to him far more than the simpering little bird he remembered Sansa to be. He was possibly going to regret this, but Sandor Clegane and regret were old drinking buddies. And by his tally, regret owed him one.

*****

Firelight turned Arya’s cheeks a rosy pink as she tried to warm herself. Sandor watched the slender hands move, nearly mesmerized.   
“Come here, girl” he growled to her, indicating a space near his side. He was warm enough. Arya moved over willingly enough, though she didn’t try to warm herself against him until he pulled her to him and wrapped his cloak around them.   
“I guess this is familiar enough, eh?” He spoke softly, chin in her hair, her cheek pressed against his chest.  
“Yes,” she responded, the ice in her voice a stark contrast to the gentle way she laid against him, “very nostalgic. As I recall you took me from my murdered father and attempted to sell me to my murdered aunt…”  
Arya trailed off as Sandor placed his finger on her lips. “We agreed no talking about the past. The past is shit.”  
She smiled wickedly. “What Gods do you hold to, Sandor?”  
“Gods are all cunts.”  
“Death comes for all men”  
“Yeah, good for him. Still a cunt.”  
“Then marry me now.”

Sandor was nearly falling asleep with her gentle voice and her softness pressed to him. At this, he nearly jerked upright. “The fuck you say?”  
Arya chuckled. “Tradition gives you ten days to consummate. I’m just asking you to say the words. Tell me and my god and none else but the sky and the trees and the fire.”

Sandor looked at her critically, then sat up a bit against the log he was leaning on. “Alright, Stark Bitch. Since this is the last time I can ever call you that,” He interjected at her protest, “after this moment, I suppose you’ll be my Clegane bitch… but you’ll always be a wolf pup to me.”

“And you’ll always be a hound.” Arya smiled softly at his glower. He hated that bastard king Goffrey, and said “fuck it” to the whole family, but the title of the Hound would follow him. Still, Arya thought of it more like the way a bloodhound tracked as he followed her constantly, it seemed.

Sandor stared into her face, “Alright Arya Stark, bitch of Winterfell… I, Sandor Clegane will fucking marry you. Good enough?”

Arya stared into his eyes for a moment, considering. He was certainly belligerent, but she really didn’t have any qualms about that. She knew what she was getting with this man, which was a far preferable option than any alternate.  
“Yes, I suppose that will do well enough. Are you going to kiss me?”  
“No”  
“Well… why not then?”  
Sandor glowered, he seemed almost vulnerable in a strange way. Arya had seen the look before, when he opened up about his past which was rarely.  
“Because. I’m a huge, ugly fuck. You want a kiss, you come get it. Otherwise, just leave it the fuck alone.”  
Arya had to fight the pity off her face. He didn’t want her pity. But there was something almost beautiful about his deforming scars. They made him vulnerable in a way. They showed the world that he had to be tough to get over them. She reached up gently and slipped her fingers into his hair, sliding it to the other side of his head and laying his burns bare. He glared, but not directly at her, if she hadn’t known better she might think almost embarrassed.   
“Big, yes. But you’re not ugly to me.” And with that she leaned in and gently pressed her lips to his, her fingers smoothing down his scars and into his shoulder


End file.
